Sand and Tears
by lone astronomer
Summary: Now complete! The boiling point of our protagonist's dilemma: run or stay? Things can never be as they were. Egypt holds nothing for me now but blood and sand; memories and tears. It's time to move on with my life. I know that. So why can't I do it? **An
1. Counsel

It lies innocently enough on the writing desk, next to the inkwell, having absolutely no idea what it is doing to me

Sand and Tears

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Universal Pictures. This unfortunately includes Ardeth Bey. Damn, damn, damn. Laura Anderson Rutherford is mine, well, sort of, in the sense that she's a figment of my twisted imagination.

Summary: We were from two very different worlds, almost completely separate, and it was by slightest chance we even met at all. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if _we_ never had. But there's that 'we,' the whole problem, right there in plain sight. So what happened?

Author's note: In a sense, this has been done before. But never the way that I intend to do it. This deals mainly with the first meeting of our two main characters (almost the only characters at this point, but I'm sure you'll forgive me) and the development of the character of one Ardeth Bey. What is he like when the proud leader in him goes on vacation? And how exactly did he get the way he is during _The Mummy_? This is the first in a trilogy, and can stand alone although it will have sequels.

Sand and Tears

Part One: Counsel

It lies innocently enough on the writing desk, next to the inkwell, having absolutely no idea what it is doing to me. As I stare at it I become acutely aware that I am miserable, no, far beyond that, but what I am exactly I don't dare ask myself. It would only lead to further heartbreak. Yes, heartbreak. Well, that's fairly normal, you think. That's part of life, you'll get over it. Everyone does.

You'd be wrong. Not everyone gets over it. I've been like this for almost two years, something of an empty shell, so removed from and yet so in tune with my emotions that I feel drained, exhausted, all the time. You ask, as I ask myself, How did this happen? I don't know. I guess you could say it started a very long time ago, with my first few months on Egyptian sand. But to understand that story, you have to know where I come from, and that's quite a tale to tell.

I was born Laura Anderson, youngest daughter of Hera (yes, Hera) and Ron Anderson, in a small house in a bad neighborhood in Dublin, Ireland. I have four older siblings- much older, the youngest of them was nine when I was born- Anna, Jamie, Clara, and Ethan. Classic, almost stereotypical names, I know. But between my mother's three jobs and my father's drinking problem, there wasn't much room for creativity. 

At least, that's what I've been told. My mother died during childbirth, and I doubt my father took a single sober breath afterwards. We five children spent most of our days on the streets, fighting for our food. Ethan called me his little scrapper, and taught me to fight off the older kids with a few very effective techniques that I still remember today. We lived that way until I was seven and my father died- I never found out how, but I remember hearing things that suggested it wasn't a very honorable death. Afterwards my brothers and sisters got jobs in factories and they took me away to the orphanage, where I spent another five years fighting for my food and learning to swear.

When I was almost twelve, a couple named Jim and Sarah Rutherford came to the orphanage. I later learned that their only son Robert, 17 at the time, had just died of the grippe and they were looking for someone to fill the hole he'd left in their lives. A friend had suggested to them that they adopt a child, as they were too old already to conceive again, and although they hadn't been planning on getting a girl or indeed going through with anything at all, we took an instant liking to each other and I found my first real family.

The first thing I learned about the Rutherfords is that, while slightly eccentric, they were very easy-going. They were also rich. Sarah thought it was so funny that I went around doing maid's chores. She was frustrated by it, at first, but some habits die hard- at the orphanage you got lashes if you didn't do your chores or if your room wasn't clean. Anyway, they accepted the quirks of my personality without question- except the fact that I kept getting myself into fist fights with boys. I don't think they ever really understood that, but I had a lot of aggression as a teen.

After one particularly nasty incident, the Rutherfords decided to come out of retirement. They'd been somewhat forced out of their field- archaeology- when Robert was born; he'd never exactly been healthy and couldn't handle being moved around much. The Rutherfords had started their own museum in London- did I mention they were British? Or was it just implied by the name?- afterwards and settled down, but I guess there were just too many memories of Robert around the house and so we took off after the next assignment they got.

Italy is a beautiful country, with lots of interesting historical sites, but outside the Rutherfords' area of expertise. After about seven months they got transferred to Greece, which was wonderful. My mother was Greek (could you tell by the name?) and so I'd always been fascinated with everything that has to do with the country. During the two and a half years we stayed there I picked up a lot (okay, almost all) of the known ancient Greek and discovered that I have something of a talent for languages. That's a blessing; it's made my life so much easier over the years.

Then came the big breakthrough in their careers- though they were older than the average archaeologists, with the age came experience and a reputation. The Rutherfords were transferred to what would be their final destination- Egypt.

That sounds fairly grim. What I really mean by this is that due to Sarah's condition- I've forgotten exactly what it was- she needed to stay somewhere dry and warm. Or, in this case, hotter than the seventh layer of hell. At least, that's what I thought at first. It didn't take me long to get adjusted, although I was pretty sunburned the first few weeks before my fair skin adjusted to being exposed to the harsh sun. It took a little longer to get accustomed to being stared at whenever I opted not to wear a hat- having very curly blonde hair will get you an audience in Cairo, that's for sure.

We never went on digs for more than two weeks at a time, due to Sarah's failing health. When we weren't on a dig site, Sarah would visit a memorial they'd had put up for Robert so that they could continue to honor his memory properly. There was never much talk of a stiff upper lip where Robert was concerned. She went alone, every Tuesday, and brought a flower from her garden every time.

When we were on dig sites, I wasn't often allowed to do much practical work. Mostly I got stuck with cataloguing. There's only so much you can catalogue, however, without getting bored, and so I found myself learning yet another language. Arabic is difficult, but I often found myself in the company of the hired workers, just listening to what they said and how they responded to each other. And ancient Egyptian wasn't all that similar to Greek, but I found myself studying that, too, and after nearly two years of life in Egypt I was a very proficient translator. 

My world fell apart a few weeks after I turned seventeen. Sarah had taken a nasty fall on a dig and, after we returned to Cairo, remained laid up in bed trying to recuperate. She died two days later.

I had overheard Jim and the doctor talking in the kitchen after returning from tending Sarah's small garden- my responsibility when she was unable to look after it- and discovered that her poor heart had just given out on her, that she'd died peacefully in her sleep, weakened from several conditions I no longer recall. I was devastated. 

The funeral was two days later, with just a few people from the city invited, but I couldn't bear to talk to them; didn't want to be reminded of my adoptive mother's absence. It was a Tuesday, and, deciding to honor her tradition, I plucked some nameless white flower from the garden and made my way towards the graveyard where I could give Sarah's beloved son a sort of reunion gift.

As I walked, I couldn't shake the bad thoughts I was having about Jim. He hadn't drawn a sober breath since Sarah's … passing on, and it was worrying me because I cared for him and didn't want to see him in such a state. Sarah never would have allowed it. I also felt somewhat like I was being watched; maybe it was paranoid of me, but every step of the way to the graveyard I swear my spine was tingling. One of the first things you learn living on the streets of Dublin is to trust that tingle. The other one religious flexibility- one week the biggest bully on the street is Catholic, the next, a Protestant. You learn to roll with the punches.

At any rate, it was very late and very dark by the time I got to the graveyard, and I was both physically and mentally exhausted, and content to sit on the low wall rolling the flower between my hands and watch the shadows around Robert's memorial. Soon Sarah's grave would join it, and I felt tears prickle behind my eyes for the first time since I was seven years old.

And that was the first time that I saw him. "Your husband, perhaps?" a low, smooth voice asked of me in slightly accented English. I wouldn't admit it for nearly two and a half years, but that accent melted my insides and nearly made me drool. It was, quite simply, delicious.

"I'm too young to be married, much less widowed," I answered, then, out of respect for what was undoubtedly his culture, at least going by the accent, "where I come from, anyway. I'm just filling in for an old friend."

"Ah." The shadow-man pulled himself up onto the wall beside me. He volunteered nothing of himself. I would later learn that this was exactly typical of him.

"So what are you doing here?" I asked, both dying to hear more words out of his sweet mouth and genuinely curious.

"Seeking counsel," he replied, tilting his head back and watching the stars. "But the spirits are strangely silent tonight."

"I know what you mean," I answered. And I did. There was no one left to counsel me, either. I told him as much.

He looked at me with a funny expression on his face. I could see large dark liquid eyes watching me, and his profile in the moonlight radiated both power and sorrow. "There is always someone who will listen," he said cryptically, turning away and watching the sky again.

I didn't want to talk about it anyway, and changed the subject. "How did you know I spoke English?"

He gestured to Robert's memorial. "Rutherford is not a common name in these parts," he explained. Well, so much for mystical powers of deduction. There probably wasn't a more reasonable man on the planet.

"Oh," I replied, feeling horribly childish and stupid. "Of course." There was another awkward silence. "Have you found your counsel yet?"

A dry smile. "At this point, I'm not even sure who the counselor is supposed to be."

"Well, nobody's omniscient. If you want my advice, you're going to have to tell me what's bothering you." Fairly sure I was the object of some intense scrutiny, I wondered if he'd even been alluding to the fact that I was the one meant to be giving the advice. I fidgeted with the flower some more, then tucked it behind my ear. He hadn't corrected me on the 'nobody's omniscient' statement, and that had thrown me off, too. There was definitely more to him than met the eye- not that I could see much in the darkness, just a still profile regarding me silently.

Finally he turned away, back to his stars again. "Tomorrow will mark the dawning of a new age for my people, and I am expected to lead them. I cannot refuse- to do so would be to choose exile and recrimination from the only family I've ever known." He paused, giving me time to absorb the earful. "But there are responsibilities that I am not sure I want that go along with it. I am expected to marry, to produce heirs, but leave them to perform other… duties." Later, I would learn that this included keeping tomb raiders well away from dangerous sites, keeping various magical objects from falling into the wrong hands, and fighting the undead. (The dead, too.) Yes, it's quite the job he's got. 

"But?" I prompted, beginning to see a small piece of the puzzle.

"But I would not force a woman to do this," he continued reluctantly. "If I asked, she would be bound by her family's honor to accept. And I would not have a woman that did not love me."

"That is quite the dilemma. There is no woman who has captured your heart, then?"

I thought I already knew the answer, by his location and demeanor. Either she had gone on to a better place or her heart belonged to another, which would definitely explain the aura of solitariness surrounding him. Little did I know- it was his father who laid that night on his deathbed, and no lover was there to be found. "I did not say that." He was giving me that peculiar analytical look again, and deftly plucked the flower from behind my ear when I turned away.

"Then I would say that there is no course of action you can take but to be true to yourself. If you stop being true to yourself, you cease to exist in the most basic of ways. Something essential inside you dies. You become, in effect, another person." This above all: to thine own self be true. It was a good credo. I had no idea what had gotten into me at the time, though. I felt like some sort of bloody oracle.

But he nodded slowly, and helped me down from the wall. "I must go now," he said, standing much taller than he had before. I had to assume that this was much more normal for him- born to lead, his regal bearing came from years of practice. Never mind this sulking in the graveyards business- it was probably horribly out of character, and that was why he was leaving. "I thank you for your advice." He seemed about to say something more, but turned away, clucking to the shadows, then mounted and rode off on a horse that I hadn't even known was there.

It wasn't until I was nearly home that I realized the fate of the flower.

That flower. That blasted flower. How on earth did it end up on my desk almost ten years later? Well, let me tell you, it's something of a long story…


	2. Exacerbation

Sand and Tears

Sand and Tears

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Universal Pictures. There are more of them than there were in the last part, too.

Summary: It was nearly three years until I saw him again. Three _years_, almost forever, but then, I wasn't in love with him at the time. In fact I'd almost forgotten about him during those years, but there are some things you just never forget. He's one of them. Heaven have mercy; I don't know what I'll do without him now. Ardeth gets playful (and somewhat scary) and Laura gets angsty. I get to question what it means to be Ardeth, what he thinks, how he acts and reacts, and how that smile got so damned sexy.

Author's note: A sequel to the first piece, _Counsel_, this sprung up on me and preyed upon my mind until I agreed to write it out in full. It's not really researched, but I do know a bit about Egypt. Also, please be aware that I am taking the title of this piece back into its original meaning, 'exacerbate' meaning 'to embitter' but also meaning 'to make worse,' as it is equally appropriate. With that in mind… read on.

Sand and Tears

Part Two: Exacerbation

It was nearly three years before I saw him again. Three _years_, almost forever, but then, I wasn't in love with him at the time. In fact, during those years I'd almost forgotten all about him. Almost. There are some things I could never forget: the sound of his voice, the deep compassion in his eyes, the way he says my name. But I suppose I need to explain what I was doing in those very dull eight years first.

I got a job cataloguing artifacts at the library-quasi-museum in Cairo, befriending and apprenticing a rather accident-prone young woman by the name of Evelyn Carnahan. Jim passed away months after Sarah, alcohol poisoning being the cause of death, and left me more money than I knew what to do with as well as a huge estate to take care of. I rented out most of it for wealthy tourists and successful treasure-seekers, because it was more convenient than having to look after the place myself and gave me another source of income. I was somewhat unwilling to spend the Rutherfords' money unless I absolutely had to. Charity from dead people is still charity. Besides, there was nothing worthwhile to spend it on.

Anyway, eventually Evelyn was put in charge of the books and I the artifacts, which suited both of us. There's nothing you can learn from a book that you can't learn better from hands-on experience. We were rather good friends, and I spent a lot of time around her and her brother Jonathan, a scoundrel and a boozehound if there ever was one. Still, he was fun, and though I never would have told Evelyn, undeniably handsome.

Nothing ever came of that, though that's not to say that he wasn't interested. I used to wonder if I was disappointed about this, but if I'd known then what I know now- let's just say Jonathan will find someone to put him in his place eventually. It will never be me. Probably some American thrill-seeker. But that's not important to this particular story.

What is important is that, roughly two years after I started at the library, Evie went off on an archaeological dig to Hamunaptra, the City of the Dead, once lost, with the prison warden, one of his previous wards, and her brother. I didn't find out about that until afterwards, of course; one day I walked in to find the library a disaster area and Evelyn missing, and that was the end of that. When she came back to pick up after herself she was married- to the former prisoner, and an American at that; how very unlike Evie- and had all sorts of enchanting and horrifying experiences to share with me. I guess I was lucky in that respect- it was with her and her husband that I went on my first dig a few months later.

Understandably, there are some things I didn't mention in the above paragraph. One is that Evelyn was almost sacrificed to make room for the lover of one of Pharaoh Seti I's priests. Two is that this priest was condemned to be mummified alive for committing adultery with Seti's whore and conspiring with her to kill him. Three is that, unwittingly, Evie herself resurrected him from the dead and let him wreak havoc on Egypt. I suppose those probably should have been mentioned in reverse order, but never mind, what's done is done, and anyway, if you're still reading, I applaud you. If I were you, I certainly wouldn't believe me. But Evie was never any good at lying. Anyway, this Imhotep priest bloke nearly killed her, but Rick and Jonathan kicked his ass just in the nick of time, saving Evelyn and taking off with several bags full of gold goodies from the City of the Dead. Not too shabby- lucky Evelyn escaped with her life, a dashing husband, and a fortune. Some girls have all the fun.

Our dig, however, was not to be anything quite so risky. A sandstorm had unburied an isolated temple about three miles outside of Thebes (or Luxor, if we're to use the modern name), dedicated to Set the god of chaos, if I recall correctly. (And after all, how could I forget?) Rick (Evie's husband), the Queen of Egypt herself, and I, along with Jonathan, set off for the long ride across the beautiful but harsh landscape and, after getting really tired of riding camel-back, we arrived at our destination, full of sand. Maybe it's just some of Evie's clumsiness rubbing off, but… well, I had sand everywhere. Literally. Even in places that should logically have been protected by clothes and undergarments. Not that that's necessary to the plot, or anything.

Well, anyway, at first we didn't find much. No juicy, gooey mummies, nothing with obvious dark connotations, no spells other than the usual ones adorning the walls and no evidence of any foul play. The place hadn't even been raided yet, which was something of a surprise for such a large temple. More surprising, to the historians among us, anyway, was the location- generally, Lower Egypt (that is, the northern part) was more closely associated with Set. 

By the end of the first day, we were all achy from stooping over and even more full of sand. I realized that the sun would be setting soon and left the three of them inside to finish up while I went to set up the tents.

"Bugger," I remember growling with feeling. If I didn't hurry, I'd lose what light there was left, and I'm something of a bad hand when it comes to things that require skills like pitching a tent. 

"Laura!" Evie yelled at me suddenly from the doorway to the temple. "Come and look at this!"

Curious, I stood up, making sure that none of our equipment was in danger of blowing away, and turned back to the entrance. 

And shouted aloud when someone grabbed me roughly from behind. "_Jesus Christ!_" I yelled, biting the hand that tried to clap over my mouth. No use- it was gloved and whoever-it-was probably barely even felt a tickling sensation. I squirmed violently as one arm tried to tighten around my midsection, then I went slack. The arm overcompensated and I took a step away, digging my elbow backwards roughly.

It encountered a hand, which grasped it firmly and spun me around. With no time to aim I pulled the hardest punch I could, only to have that caught, too, so I took aim with my foot-

I've never been gladder not to have landed a blow. The whoever-it-was swept my other leg out from under me, caught me before I hit the ground, and swung me over his shoulder. Unfortunately for him, this meant that he could not cover my mouth at the same time. Cursing loudly and insulting his family line in my less-than-perfect Arabic did not seem to be getting me anywhere, however.

Before he'd even carried me past the pillar to the city, where undoubtedly I'd be drugged or otherwise incapacitated until the rest of the team could be captured, there was the sound of the safety being taken off of a rifle. "Put her down," Evie commanded, first in flawless Arabic and then in English.

Tall, Dark, and Muscular turned around abruptly, which was a surprise. Oh, and it wasn't good for my head. Too much abrupt motion when one's hanging upside-down from a strange man's shoulder… "Evelyn?" I started. There was something about his voice…

"Ardeth!" she exclaimed, discarding the weapon immediately. Oh, good, I thought, cataloguing the name. A friend of a friend is a friend of mine. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Are you going to put me down now?" I asked, dazedly, still speaking Arabic. It was all the blood flow to my head. This sensation was immediately reversed as Ardeth flipped me right side up again and set me on the sand. I sank down, dizzy. "Thank you," I said dumbly, in English this time.

"What are _you_ doing here? This is not the place for newlyweds, especially not you two." Well, he certainly knew what he was talking about. And I still couldn't place his voice. Damn it!

Evie flushed, whether with anger or embarrassment or indignation I never found out. "Well, we're not raising any mummies, and we certainly don't need you to baby-sit us-"

He cut her off. "Have you found anything?" The way he stressed the last two words made me wonder if Evie might indeed be in danger of resurrecting something. She didn't meet his eyes. "That's what I thought," Ardeth said, sighing. "Will you never learn?" I recognize now the teasing light his eyes had taken on. At least he'd gotten there before something drastic happened.

"Well, I-"

"'No harm ever came from reading a book,'" Rick quoted, wiping sand from his hands onto the back of his trousers as he emerged from the temple. "Good to see you, Ardeth." He looked at me. "What are you doing on the ground?"

"Recovering from almost being kidnapped," I said sarcastically, grudgingly accepting the hand this Ardeth character extended to help me up. Then I looked up into his eyes. 

Big mistake- they were large, warm and inviting and wise and beautiful, and I realized for the first time that this was probably the most exquisitely gorgeous human being I had ever laid eyes upon. He had dark tattoos on his cheeks, possibly henna, and an immaculate goatee. And that voice- and the profile-- everything clicked into place. "You!" we exclaimed together, and let go of each other as if we were hot coals. I didn't want to stop looking at him. Good Lord. Had I really once thought of him as Shadow Man? He was seductive even in broad daylight. _Heaven have mercy._

I turned to Evie, painfully aware of the fact that I had ended up on my rear in the sand again. I really was losing face that day. "You know this fellow?" 

She looked even more surprised than I felt and turned to Ardeth. "You two know each other?"

"Oh, yeah," I said bitingly, pulling myself up off of the sand. "He and I go way back, right? Ardeth, is it?" I grinned and extended my hand. Just because I was sarcastic all the time didn't mean I was unfriendly. "Laura Rutherford. Nice to finally meet you where I can see you. Although the circumstances could have been better." Like maybe if we'd been the only two there. Whoa, wait a second, you just met the man, something in me cautioned.

Ardeth grasped my hand firmly. It was bizarre, but somehow I anticipated it when he brought it to his lips. "A pleasure."

No bloody kidding. That's all I was thinking about, anyway. 

Things might have gotten even more awkward, but luckily Jonathan chose this moment to emerge from the tomb. "Hello, what have we here? My dear Laura, we do make friends fast."

I glowered at him. If he were sand, he might've melted into glass. "Jonathan. I assume you know him, too." 

"Well, I suppose that depends on which 'him' you're referring to." I turned around, and suddenly behind Ardeth there were three others loaded down with weaponry and somewhat sinister expressions.

I blinked, wondering if they were hallucinations. "Aren't you going to introduce us?" I asked meekly. 

Ardeth turned and said something to his warriors in rapid Arabic. Then, in English, "You should pitch your tents soon- the sun will be setting." He paused, then said, "Evelyn, I would like to see what you have found."

I grimaced, somehow sensing that if he saw it, I never would, then volunteered to go with them. Rick and Jonathan were better at setting up camp, anyway. The three of us went back into the temple.

I'll never forget the look on Ardeth's face when Evie showed him that scroll. He was scared- damn scared- and I rarely saw him look like that, even afterwards. The scroll itself was innocent, but the writings on it were not- it decreed that every thousand years on the lunar solstice Set himself would visit this temple. What were the odds that the lunar solstice was three weeks away? And naturally, that year would be that thousand-year interval. Don't things always work out that way?

The scroll went on to describe a somewhat gory sacrificial rite in exquisite detail, something about the essentials of an illegitimate child, to invoke Set's favor, and possibly bring about the next apocalypse. (Sounds cliché, doesn't it? I laughed out loud. Ardeth didn't think it was very funny. He growled at me. And he took away the blasted scroll, too. Evie was really mad; I just wanted to learn more about the curses and apocalyptic events.) Anyway, five minutes later, Ardeth and his tribal lackeys were riding off into the sunset, sans moi, which I was only mildly perturbed about. 

I grabbed a blanket and draped it around my shoulders, taking a seat close to the fire. "Let me guess," Evie said. "We're leaving in the morning."

Rick nodded, passing Jonathan a bottle of something that looked deadly. "You guessed it." 

"But, Rick," she protested.

Rick cut her off. "No buts. Remember what happened last time, Evie. I'm not taking chances with you again, especially," he took on a nearly paternal tone, "with things the way they are. Ardeth will be back in the morning to make sure we've gone, you know he will, and he will _not_ be happy if we show no signs of moving when he gets back."

The paternal tone is what got me. Then I thought, Hell, they've been married almost six months, and with those two, did you really expect something different? "Am I sensing that some sort of congratulations are in order?"

They both grinned, faces pink in the firelight. That was all the answer I needed. "How do you three know this Ardeth fellow, anyway? I somehow get the impression he's not exactly a social butterfly."

Jonathan snorted. "You'd be right. He's the leader of a huge clan of desert warriors that are constantly preventing meddlesome librarians like Evie here from accidentally bringing about the end of the world. No big deal." He looked at me curiously, and slightly drunkenly. "How do _you_ know him?"

I noticed the way Evie was looking at me and squirmed uncomfortably. I can't keep secrets from her. It's impossible, even with an audience. "Well, I wouldn't say I _know_ him, exactly. We've met… once… two and a half years ago. It was dark," I explained, "and so I didn't recognize him at first, just his voice…"

I must have sounded like a lovesick puppy, and looked it, too, by the expressions on their faces. Evie had a hand clapped over her mouth and I could see that she was straining with the effort not to laugh. Well, she wouldn't be laughing later. But I didn't know that then. I'm just lucky I had a friend like her to get me through it all.

As it was, I had a hard time sleeping that night. A chill wind blew outside my tent, and the cold seeped in through the canvas. When I did drift off, my dreams were haunted by a man whose face I couldn't see but whose voice called to me from the depths of my soul. A little melodramatic, maybe, but essentially true. Suffice it to say that I was not at my most chipper point the next morning.

Ardeth, true to his word, returned the early the following day, alone, just as we were finishing packing up. He was on horseback again (unsurprising; I couldn't imagine him riding a camel), and this time I noticed subtle things about the animal itself- spirited but silent, obviously high-strung but very obedient, it clearly had no question of who was the master. I also decided that it could very well have been the same horse that I hadn't noticed that night in the graveyard so long ago. It was a remarkable creature.

Not so remarkable, perhaps, as its master, and though a good deal of what I am telling you is hindsight, I can say with all honesty that I was more than struck by his impressive figure again that morning. 

He didn't say much, though, which I learned was pretty much standard. He waited with Evie, Rick and I while Jonathan pulled himself together and rolled up his tent. The silence was thicker than wet sand, although there was no real reason for it to be so awkward. Evie's eyes kept darting between Ardeth and I, despite the glare I was giving her. When she did catch on to it, she just smiled wider and kept doing it. 

Eventually Rick thought of a way to torture me (us), which was nothing other than inquiring, with a knowing sort of smirk on his face, how it was that we first met. Talking around the knife he was holding in his teeth (he was also whittling something out of a piece of sandalwood he'd gotten who-knew-where), "So Ardeth," pause while he switched tools, "we've heard Laura's side of the story, but I want a man's view. You don't exactly get out much. When and how the hell," Evie looked only mildly affronted, "did you meet?"

I did not even need to use all of my people-reading skills to see that Ardeth was uncomfortable with the question (although I didn't know exactly why at the time). I suddenly felt inclined to rescue him, which was somewhat irrational of me since the last person who could possibly ever need saving is Ardeth. Unless that saving includes saving him from himself, which he needs every once in a while. He's something of a workaholic and can take things far too seriously. "What's wrong with my version of the events?" I asked, feigning indignant and hoping my act wasn't totally transparent. By Evie's expression, it probably was. "Don't you believe me?"

I didn't miss the curious look Ardeth was giving me. There was some relief there, too, hidden under his proud mask. I guess I must have been getting good at reading him. 

"Sure I believe you," Rick said good-naturedly. "I want to know if I believe Ardeth. Out with it."

I'm fairly sure I glowered at him, but Ardeth answered steadily, "It was nearly three years ago, in a graveyard in Cairo." He looked at me for a long moment and I was sure that my face was burning red. Possibly literally; once again I'd forgotten to put on a hat. 

"Uh-huh," Rick intoned, setting down his tools and crossing his arms over his chest. "So I've heard." 

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Rick, you are not a subtle man. Don't pretend." I almost had time to wonder I was relieved before she continued, "And you two. Don't think for a moment you can escape the interrogation I'm going to give you. I just happen to have more tact than my husband." She elbowed him in the stomach. "But we should get going before it gets much later."

We did, and so it came to pass that Ardeth Bey walked out of my life again. 

The three and a half weeks that followed before he reappeared unannounced (as he was prone to do) were uneventful and dull. Work in the museum seemed to have lost its appeal. I was easily distracted, there wasn't much to do, and I couldn't even talk to Evelyn at work to ease the boredom because she didn't work there anymore. She'd gotten huge numbers of better offers, but wasn't working at all just then because (although I doubt she'd ever admit this was the reason) she was pregnant and Rick was obsessively worried about her.

On this particular day, I had just finished drafting summaries for a new series of historical objects (relatively benign and innocent ones compared to what darling Evie had dug up) when I heard someone talking with the curator. The language was Arabic, and while most of it was too fast for me to catch, I would have known that voice anywhere. At the time, I thought my imagination was running away with me. After all, what in the five pillars of Islam would Ardeth Bey be doing in a museum? If he wanted to see stuffy old dead blokes he could go right to the source any time. I was just about to think up an excuse to go back into the library and main reception area when the curator called me over.

Unsurprisingly, my ears had not deceived me into thinking I was hearing Ardeth's voice. "Miss Rutherford," the curator was saying, "this is my nephew-" My mental exclamation cut him off as I stopped hearing his words. I couldn't believe I hadn't made the connection between them- 'Bey' isn't exactly a common name.

"We've met," I said dryly, extending my hand to Ardeth. "How do you do, Mr. Bey?" I asked in my clumsy Arabic.

Ardeth took my hand and shook it, earning a curious look from yours truly. So he had reservations about being a scoundrel in front of older relatives, did he? That was certainly interesting. "Well, thank you," he answered back. I noticed a fresh scab along his jawline and had to wonder if anyone could be crazy enough to actually engage this man in any sort of physical confrontation. 

Reluctantly, I turned my attention back to the curator. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

The curator nodded and gestured to Ardeth, who withdrew a familiar-looking scroll from his robes.

__

Lucky scroll, I tried not to let myself be distracted.

"This scroll," the curator intoned, taking on the tone he usually did when talking with foreign women, "is now your be-all, end-all of responsibilities." _Well, of course_, I thought, _after all, in the wrong hands it could bring about the next apocalypse_. "That includes dating, translating, cleaning, preservation…" I started tuning him out. Ardeth was distracting me. "…And guarding it _with your life_."

Really. With my life. I was hardly about to die for a scroll. Deciding that it couldn't hurt any to let the curator know that I already knew about where it had been found, I ventured a question. "Shouldn't this be conveniently lost somewhere? I mean, what with the temple and the sacrifices and the apocalypse and everything…"

I suppressed my satisfaction at the curator's disbelieving look. Shadow-Man looked like he was holding in a laugh. "The temple is gone," Ardeth said without any particular significance. 

Well, that would explain it. "Oh," I said stupidly, then reached out and took the scroll. "I guess I'll get to work." I cursed myself for not coming up with an excuse to stay longer and turned to leave.

Ardeth probably thought I didn't know he was following me, and to be sure, I wasn't a hundred percent certain, but like I said before, you learn to trust that tingle after a while. "Is there something I can help you with?"

I turned around and was fairly alarmed to notice that he was a lot closer than I'd expected. Apparently he was very experienced at sneaking up on people. Proximity decreed that every nerve fiber in my body tingle. Ardeth had one of his insufferable little smiles on his lips and it was slowly killing me. "I think so," he answered, capturing my hand and pressing it to his lips again. The tingling sensation decided to migrate to my spine and I shivered. Damn him. How was I supposed to sleep at night?

I tried to restrain my errant mind from answering that particular rhetorical question, but to no avail, and flushed bright red. Ardeth's superior smile widened a little. I wanted to scream. Instead I forced the blood to flow away from my face and raised an eyebrow. If he wanted to play that way, I was game. "Very well, Mr. Bey. What's your pleasure?"

If I thought that was going to provoke the same kind of visible reaction in him that he had in me, I was going to be sorely disappointed. I almost anticipated it when he answered, "What's yours?"

__

Don't blush, I told myself furiously. _Don't do it. Don't_. I did. Damn him. Would this be a good opportunity to point out that I was just barely twenty years old at the time and very unused to the attention? As a direct result, I could not for the life of me think of something equally innuendo-laced to say back to him. Instead I think I said, "Are you always like this?"

"No," he answered (truthfully, I might add). 

Wherein lies one of my key dilemmas. 'To thine own self be true.' Blast him and damn morals! And if my own conscience was going to stand in our way then damn it, too. I think he recognized exactly what I meant by that from our first ever conversation, because after a contemplative look, he left again without another word.

His other visits, while not infrequent, were always more serious. Although the teasing, playful side of Ardeth would show through fairly often, he always seemed more genuine after that. As time progressed it also became apparent that he was born to lead; he was so proud that he was nearly arrogant and sometimes I caught him almost swaggering rather than stalking about as he was much more prone to do. 

This went on for years- three and a half of them, to be exact. I probably saw him at least once a month during that time. Sometimes I would wake up and find some more of those mysterious white flowers from the garden- heaven only knew where he was getting them from because I'd never seen them anywhere else before. I learned eventually that they were Calla lilies (I know, I know; what was Sarah doing growing _lilies_ in _Egypt?_ But I couldn't very well get rid of them…) and while they were a trifle expensive to keep, they were just so beautiful and had such sentimental value that there was absolutely no chance of me ever getting rid of them. But the Calla Lilies aren't really what the story's about…

Ardeth and I grew close; we finally learned to communicate properly. I learned that the delicious scar I'd first noticed as a scab on his jawbone was the result of an injury from one of Set's canine henchmen. I learned all about the reign of Seti I from the point of view of the Pharaoh's bodyguards themselves. In return, I told him about my childhood, life in Italy and Greece, and what I was doing in the graveyard that fateful night. 

This was when he first began to tell me about his own troubles. The death of his own father, whom he'd loved dearly, and the circumstances surrounding it. The constant pressures, doubts and worries that plagued him because of his position. The unrelenting quest of his maternal grandmother to find him a wife. (I confess, some of those stories made me laugh so hard that I drew even more attention than usual.)

I know what you're thinking: Three and a half _years_. Years! And you didn't…? Well, the answer is no. We didn't. (Couldn't? Wouldn't?) After all, this is Egypt we're talking about. Not exactly the most forward-thinking of countries. I still wonder if this is part of the reason for what happened at the end of those three and a half years.

The memory is so fresh in my mind that it might have been yesterday. As a matter of fact these two years have been plagued with might-have-beens and almost-weres. But let me tell you about this particular day, which happens to be the last day that I saw him. 

I remember that it was a Friday, because everything was closed. I found Ardeth in Sarah's garden at around nine o'clock in the morning and was met with a kiss and one of those blasted Calla lilies. They used to be popular for funerals, you know, but there's no way I was ever going to bring _that_ up. There was something in the air that day, something I felt even then, something indefinable and indescribable and inherently good; everyone seemed to feel it and everything seemed much more alive because of it. I should have been able to see what was coming, but then, hindsight is always crystal clear.

We rode two hours by horseback (on the same horse, I should add; her name is Isis and Ardeth adores her; won't ride another) to the most beautiful and improbable oasis I've ever seen. It was lush and almost cool beneath the cover of the leaves; Ardeth said speculatively that Allah had smiled upon us to give us such a beautiful day together. What else could I do but agree? And yet I still hadn't figured it out.

We walked along beside a babbling brook until it turned into a perfect lagoon and there we stopped to rest. Ardeth led Isis to the water to drink and I laid back in the shade, unable to quell the ridiculous notion that that particular day was just ours, not to be shared with anyone. 

Ardeth came and sat down beside me, and I noticed that he looked more apprehensive than ever before, but when I asked him he only smiled that infuriating smile that he has and told me that I would find out soon enough. I knew better by then than to press the issue. If it was meant to be a surprise, then it was meant to be a surprise, damn it. Besides, he would just tease me about my impatience if I brought it up again. He liked to think that I was young and inexperienced, whether that was true or not, and reminding me of it was one of his favorite pastimes. 

Anyway, I'm a little unclear on what happened next. I'm fairly certain I fell asleep just lying there and talking to him, but I'm never really sure. The next thing I remember, we were headed back to Cairo again, the sun low in the sky. I don't think we've ever had a quieter two hours together. I was so completely in awe of- everything…

But enough of that nonsense. Nothing sadder than a sappy Irish woman, and I'm getting dangerously close. Never mind dangerously close; I've been over the edge for quite some time. Just let me tell it like it is.

Was. I've got to remember to use the past tense, too.

At any rate, it was just past sundown when we got back to the Rutherfords' somewhat pretentious estate. Funny how I never really thought of it as home without them. Well, maybe not so funny. But I'm digressing again, which isn't that unusual; you should have heard the story as I first told it to Evelyn. Let's just say she was a little frustrated with my inability to get the facts out in any particular order.

Where did I leave off? Ah, the door. The back door, that is, to avoid prying eyes, I suspect. I was anticipating the kiss- soft, lingering, and completely enthralling, although I'm sure you don't want to hear me go on about it- but what happened directly afterwards would leave me scarred for years. Ardeth pulled away slightly, just enough that all I could see was the fathomless depths of my own soul reflected in his eyes. Damn but that sounds dramatic. Yet all of this was just useless jargon in my brain as I felt him fasten something around my neck.

"Marry me," he whispered, threading fingers through my hair as I stood there, stunned. "Please."

In years to come I could never think of him without hearing him say the words. He loved me. He wanted me to be _his wife_. And I… Oh, _I_…

I was scared, and it showed. I found myself leaning against the door for support. He wanted to marry _me_. Me! How would his family react? How would _I_ react? Would I be able to cope? What if it didn't work out? I had so many doubts, so many questions, and yet there was only one answer: It didn't matter. I _loved_ him. I _needed_ him. I still do.

When I opened my eyes with a shaky smile the last vestiges of residual sunlight were gone from the sky. I have no idea how long I had stood there. 

I also have no idea how long he waited. By the time I opened my eyes again, he was gone with the sunlight, leaving behind only the faint scent of sandalwood and exotic spice. I haven't seen him since.

I don't know what I'd have done if it weren't for Evelyn. Little Alex- the son that came of the pregnancy I mentioned earlier- was just about three and certainly a handful; Evie and Rick were contemplating moving back to England to lead somewhat more normal lives, but what mattered was that they weren't gone yet and I needed the company. That first night when I told Evie everything, she cried harder than I did. Actually, I don't think I cried at all, but I don't remember. Those times are… something of a blur to me now.

Just because I didn't see Ardeth afterwards doesn't mean there hasn't been evidence that points to him seeing me, of course. That funny sixth sense I sometimes get will sneak up on me at the strangest times: at the marketplace, in the museum where I still work, in my own garden and at the graveyard I visit every Tuesday with white Calla lilies. Sometimes I still wake up to the scent of sandalwood and spice and when I open my eyes I'll see that someone's left the window open. 

There were never any more flowers, though. Not until now. I try not to wonder what it means, but I can't help myself. I mean, I've tried drying Calla lilies before. A lot of times, actually. But they always withered and crumbled and were never really preserved. Yet I know, beyond any and all shadow of a doubt, that that flower…

That blasted flower. It first appeared in my life with a mysterious shadow man and was originally intended for my adoptive mother's dead son. Now it's reappeared to remind me of a love that has also grown old, one that used to be the very sustenance of my life. How morbidly appropriate.

I can't risk touching it. If I touch it, it will become real, or it will fade away as a part of a future I'll never have. Either way it will bring my two years of attempted living crashing down on my head. It will mess up my life in ways that I cannot even fathom. Touching that flower, I realize suddenly with a pang of intense agony, cannot bring him back. 

So I sit there, and I watch it, as the sun sets in Cairo. Errant rays of sunlight refract through the glass windowpanes and caress it before succumbing and then the shadows come. Yet still I watch. Waiting; for what, I do not know. Whatever it is, it doesn't happen while I sit there.

I fall asleep sitting in that chair by the window. Before I lose consciousness, I feel my fingers curl around the lily's stem and I, too, succumb.


	3. Seduction

Sand and Tears

Sand and Tears

Disclaimer: Everything is property of Universal Studios, except Laura, and would you please take her off my hands as she keeps swearing and messing up my mind and forcing me to write in a fandom with which I'm not very familiar? /endrant. Kidding. One would think I adore torturing her so… Oh wait… I do…

Summary: The boiling point of our protagonist's dilemma: run or stay? Things can never be as they were. Egypt holds nothing for me now but blood and sand; memories and tears. It's time to move on with my life. I know that. So why can't I do it?

Author's note: There will be a brief companion piece, perhaps, depending on whether or not you want to read it. It will be called _Aftermath_, from Ardeth's point of view. That is all.

Sand and Tears

Part Three: Seduction

I sleep without dreams, although that's not to say my head isn't clouded with thought even while I am unconscious. Somehow, some part of me has decided that I need to move on, to accept that things can never be as they were. That Egypt holds nothing for me now but blood and sand, memories and tears. But the other part of me argues against this with all its- my- heart and soul and mere logic cannot defeat the two of them put together, even when coupled with common sense. I've never had a terrible lot of that, anyway.

When I awaken roughly two hours later, judging by the position of the stars, it is to the trace scent of spice and sandalwood. The window is open again, and the fragile stem of that damned flower is tucked into my hand. I inhale deeply as I stand , aware that I must be insane to have such realistic, elaborate hallucinations, and reluctantly leave the flower on the desk. Yet, if only to assure myself that he isn't really here, I say, "I've caught you at last, Mr. Bey."

There is the slightest shift of air currents in the room and someone rather substantial for a hallucination wraps his arms around me. I close my eyes, afraid that if I look at him, he will disappear again. "You caught me a very long time ago, Miss Rutherford," that voice answers. My God, his voice. It hasn't changed at all, except it's never been this laden with emotion before. Except for that one time. If I weren't scared and relieved and blissfully uncomprehending, I would be amused that he's decided to play my game- for now.

"I don't know what I am doing, you know," I say, if for the sole purpose of hearing my own voice. "I didn't know what I was doing then, either. And I'm sorry." I sound detached, like someone is speaking through me. It's the damn oracle effect again. I am translating what I really want to say into socially acceptable terms and passing it off as the truth. I am not being true to myself, and I know it.

So, too, does Ardeth. He can always tell when it comes to things like these. But he says, "I know," and we stand there for a moment, awkward as all hell, and me still unable to look at anything other than that damn Calla lily.

"You kept it," I whisper into the silence, and caress it almost reverently as it lies there, fragile as ever. I decide to hell with the risk and turn around into Ardeth's deep brown gaze. It has been too long since I held that gaze with my own eyes. "From the very beginning." I feel something akin to confusion, but it is wrapped in a blanket as comforting as his arms. Then I say, "You _knew_."

He's known. Right from the beginning, he has known something that I debated constantly with myself for over eight years. So two years ago must have been a rude shock for him; realizing that I did not yet know that I loved him. If I'd known then what I know now, I would probably be pregnant with his third child by now. Frightening, to put it that way, but not so much so as the thought of having to live without him again. I decide that I cannot leave, even if Ardeth disappears again. Egypt is in my blood as much as it is in Evelyn's, for it has seeped through my thick emotional skin and left me addicted, like a drug.

Like I am addicted to Ardeth.

"You didn't," he says quietly, and draws me closer to him. "I should have said something, but I thought that if something was so obvious to me- to everyone…" He doesn't need to finish that sentence.

"Evelyn told you," I realize aloud, not bothering to feel the slightest resentment that she'd revealed what I had pleaded with her to keep a secret.

"She has been known to have something of a loose tongue when she's drunk," Ardeth agrees, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. "Although I doubt she's told you that particular story."

Certainly not, but I catalogue it in my mind for future reference. 

Gradually we become aware that we have not said anything of great significance. I wonder if I've fooled myself into thinking I need him all these years, but his lips descend on mine and the ensuing fire ignites all of me, both of us, and any doubts are burnt and washed away. It suddenly seems unbearably hot in the room as Ardeth's tongue flicks gently across my lips, and my arms can no longer stand to have any space between our two bodies so I wrap them around his neck and hold him tightly for fear of collapsing.

Breathing necessitates that we move apart. I feel as if someone has filled the empty places in me with warm sand, but there is still one thing I need to know and I can't let it go. "Why did you leave?" I ask, making sure he knows that I am not accusing him.

"You were not ready," comes the answer. That much is true. There is a pause. "And as I'm beginning to realize, neither was I."

So are we ready now? I wonder as another of his kisses steals my breath away. Ardeth's hand cups the back of my neck and I feel him run a hand through my admittedly tangled hair. His fingers catch on a necklace and I say softly, "I've never taken it off." This is the truth, as well. I've never even attempted to see how it clasps, although I have been known to fiddle with it constantly when I think of him.

"Good," is his only answer, and then there is no sound no air no room no necklace no anything, just Ardeth and a kiss that tastes of spice and lavender and passion and something that is so basic and fundamentally Ardeth that it makes me want to scream. I feel the back of my knees touch the end of the bed and we collapse on it, so heavy in our desire that we can no longer support our own weight. 

It is much later when the oblivion of sleep claims us.

I awaken again this night to the feeling that I am not alone and keep my eyes closed, knowing from the gentle complaining of ill-treated muscles and the lingering scent of sandalwood that this whole ordeal hasn't been a dream. Yet in this state that is neither full awareness nor sleep I find the peace for which I have been searching and I am glad, for this is something I can share with him, and the hardest part of our journey is over.

Extricating myself from the arms of the man I love, I sit up and reach for my glasses so that I can better examine him in the pale starlight. He is unsurprisingly magnificent unclothed, with the sheets around his waist on one side and a good deal lower on the other, exposing well-toned muscle and copious amounts of delicious dark skin. His beautiful hair is in perfect disarray and even though his eyes are closed I know that on some basis he is still alert, still aware of what is going on around him.

He stirs, and I soon discover that he does not relish waking alone. His arm reaches out for me and I move back into his embrace, for feeling is even better than seeing at this point. He also, rather sleepily, removes my glasses and sets them on the bedside table, then pulls me as close as he can. This close, the sandalwood scent mixes intoxicatingly with the delicate smell of his sweat, causing tantalizing flashbacks as he tucks my head under his chin. "You're not going to leave again, are you?" I ask, hoping I know the answer.

"Not without you," comes the reply, and the amazing thing is that he sounds even more seductive when he's just woken up. Somehow I know he'll never cease to amaze me. "And not for good." I wonder if Sleepy Ardeth is just doesn't have the Proud Med-jai Leader switch on and that's why he's so different. I also wonder about the sort of reception his people will have for me. Will they be welcoming, relieved that he's finally found someone? Wary, because I am a Western outsider? Resentful that he didn't marry inside his own culture like is sometimes expected? And what about his maternal grandmother? I snicker to myself as I imagine her reaction. "What," Ardeth asks, his voice somewhat dry and maybe a little irritated, "could possibly be so amusing at this hour?" 

__

If you could see yourself right now, I think to myself, _your pride would take a serious beating_. I pause in mid-ponder. _And if Evelyn could see us now, she would most definitely be snickering as well._ "Just thinking about a story you once told me about your grandmother," I answer, unable to stop the teasing smile.

Ardeth regards me blearily for a minute before a smile, a genuine smile, crosses his face and he laughs. I've never heard him laugh quite like that before. It's contagious and soon, I am laughing too. It makes everything all right, somehow. 

Outside, the sun peeks over distant sand dunes. With the new day dawns a new life, one that promises to be the perfect merger of two worlds. We lie quietly in bed and watch the sun rise, and for the first time since Sarah died I know that here, in my lover's arms, I am home.

END


End file.
